Untitled
by Lying Monster
Summary: LOST: "L" LAWLIET. Seven year old male. Black hair, pale complexion, dark eyes. Victim of severe child slaughter. If found, please disregard. This child belongs to no one.


The sheets of rain that splattered and marred the windowpane did all but wash away the stains, and a faint reflection was all that remained of a once beautiful sheen. The scornful wind distorted the impotent cries of agony from beyond the tainted window, but did not rid of them. Blackened with sorrow and empathy, the sky wept for mercy.

But there was none.

It continued remorselessly. The pain, the anguish, and the devastating horror. The riveting fear that smudged every potential childhood memory and turned each to glass, shattering them one by one into ruthless honed blades.

Blood splattered the dank walls of a small sitting room, accompanied by a sickening choking sound. The blows returned consecutively, becoming more painful as they advanced.

Suddenly the sounds of agony died away. A door slammed. The dark house became shelter to nothing but the sound of the rain beating hard on the windows and a still, damaged body. Dark pools began gathering on the rotting carpet, flowing steadily from the mouth of the unconscious frame and adding to the previously existing discoloration.

Then there was silence.

--

"Get up, boy. Make yourself clean."

The far away tone was bitterly familiar. Echoing in the emptiness, it cut into the young boy's mind and forced him to open his swollen eyes. Staring up at the tall, blurry figure, fear slowly began to leak back into Lawliet's vacant eyes. He knew he did not have the strength to support his own weight.

"I said get up! You'll obey me and do what I tell you to do, dammit!"

The searing pain returned. Dark red blotches clouded Lawliet's vision as the bottom side of a filthy boot impaled his face. Blinking blood from his eyes, the boy found every last bit of strength he possessed and willed himself to sit up. Staring up at the unfocused image of his father, he did not dare to speak a word.

His father was silent for a while, waiting expectantly. Lawliet attempted to lift himself to his feet, but fell frailly back to the floor. In disgust, the deranged man reached down and gripped the small boy's neck, heaving him upward. Then, without release, Lawliet was dragged from the sitting room into a narrow hallway, where he was shoved forcefully into a wall.

"Did you hear me?! Make yourself clean!"

Crawling to the door frame of the decaying bathroom, Lawliet collapsed.

"You're a filthy, worthless burden! I keep you in my house, and this is what I get from you? After all the damage you've done, you should be grateful to me that you're even still alive!"

Enduring yet another agonizing kick to his side, Lawliet soon found himself inside the bathroom with the door shut. It had been slammed so forcefully that the wood surrounding the hinges had splintered, and Lawliet felt the shards of wood fall onto his damp face and stick to it.

Feeling incredibly nauseous and weak, Lawliet gripped the squalid toilet and heaved himself up to the counter, where he finally faced his own pale reflection in the dirty mirror. Staring at himself and watching heavy tears flow from his dark eyes and dilute the blood on his face, Lawliet had little memory of when his appearance was not severely blemished. His messy black hair was plastered to his forehead, and his childish face was riddled with sorrow and emptiness, scarcely resembling that of a seven year old.

"It's my fault..", he whispered, while staring blankly at his reflection through a murky blur of tears. "Mommy would still be here.. she would never have gone away.."

In attempt to punish himself, Lawliet gripped his face with his hands and clawed at it, removing small bits of flesh from his stinging wounds. Finally, having no strength left even to continue standing, he fell to the cold floor again and stared at his bloody hands which were shaking violently. He watched absently as tears fell onto them and gathered in his palms. The words his father had thrown at him began to eat away at his injured mind, whispering demonically to him and forcing him to believe their shallow lies.

"Filthy.. worthless.."

He could barely hear his own sobbing voice over the ringing in his ears. There was not a moment of every day that Lawliet was not reminded of his mother's death, and how if it weren't for him, she would still be alive.

"YOU HAD BETTER BE CLEAN, BOY, OR I'LL HAVE TO DISCIPLINE YOU!"

Adrenaline surged through Lawliet's veins as he jerked his head up painfully and stared at the closed bathroom door. He could hear his father stumbling down the hall. He was coming for him. The violent shaking that enclosed his frail body began to increase at an alarming rate as he realized that he was cornered. Desperately, he tried to rid his face of the blood and tears with his hands, but it was too late. The door swung open with immense exertion and hit Lawliet in the face, causing him to fall backwards. He had no choice but to gaze up at his father. Staring death in the eye, he felt his very life seeping through his fingers as desperate, pleading tears continued to pour from his swollen eyes.

"Please.. please.."

There were no more words. Yanked forward by his hair, Lawliet's weakened scream fell silent with terror. Once, twice, he felt the unforgiving door frame dig into his skull, then his vision became an abstract blur and he began to see black. He felt himself being dragged a distance, then thrown back down to the all-too-familiar rotting carpet of the sitting room. There was a sound of shattering glass, and the sear of jagged-edged blades being pressed into flesh. The acute smell of blood and old alcohol penetrated Lawliet's nostrils. As the blood ran into his throat and choked him, he no longer had any will to call out for help or lenience. With every last bit of consciousness he possessed, he listened to the throbbing in his head and counted the beats. One, two, three, four..

Suddenly the sharp blows stopped.

The noises were prolonged and far away. Sirens. Heavy breathing, an opening door. Muffled voices. The clatter of an object in contact with a hard surface.

The sounds slowed. The crack of a gun resounded. Deafening silence washed over the room and mingled only with the hollow sound of rain.

Then everything faded to black.

--

Blinding white light pervaded Lawliet's eyelids as he lay motionless, caught somewhere between the realm of consciousness and oblivion. He could still feel pain, but less now than he had felt before. He did not open his eyes.

The feeling of death that encompassed him did not feel terrible at all, but rather comforting. He knew that his suffering would soon be over, and that he would finally be able to rest in full serenity. He would no longer need to endure any more pain. Everything was right now - even through death.

But there were voices.

The white light flickered, and Lawliet finally opened his eyes.

"He's coming back."

Blurry figures swam before Lawliet's vision, and he slowly began to realize how sick he was feeling. Where was he now? Had he finally died?

Lawliet tried to make a sound, but could only assemble a groan.

He closed his eyes again, hoping that the overwhelming nausea he was experiencing would soon diminish. As his senses became more attuned, he became aware of tubes aiding his breathing and the consistent beep of a nearby machine.

He was not dead at all.

Opening his eyes once more, his vision gradually became more defined. He saw two people standing a distance away and could faintly hear their voices. He struggled to hear what they were saying, but the muffled sound did not make sense. One of the figures suddenly turned and began walking towards him. Lawliet began to sit up slowly.

Immediately he regretted moving his body into an upright position and lay back at once. A sharp pain shot through his back, and a wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to feel extremely disoriented. He shut his eyes quickly as he felt his churning stomach turn over. Laying as still as possible, Lawliet reminded himself to breathe deeply and stay calm.

"Good morning, sweetie. How are you feeling?"

He lifted his head slightly, propping it against his pillow so as not to be laying completely flat. The nurse's calm voice vaguely reminded Lawliet of one he had heard before. He stared up at her with dark, questioning eyes as her face faded in and out of focus.

It was then that he felt an alarming churn in the pit of his stomach. Listening to the loud gurgling noise it was making, he lay very still and willed it to go away, but it was no use. Before he had a chance to control it, Lawliet gagged heavily and threw up.

Recoiling from the sudden incident, his breathing became fast and shallow as panic gripped his entire body. He watched as the large quantity of acidic fluid ran down the white bed sheets and stained them. The vomit was dark red in color and smelled overwhelmingly rancid.

"I'm sorry..", Lawliet choked as tears of fear and shame clouded his vision. "I couldn't help it.."

The nurse knelt beside Lawliet and spoke reassuringly to him while she wiped his mouth and surrounding areas with a damp cloth.

"Everything is alright.. you just had a lot of blood in your stomach from when your nose was cut, but it's all out of your body now."

Lawliet watched as the other nurse walked over and deposited the soiled blanket into a plastic bag, giving him a warm smile before she walked out of the room. He then returned his attention to the nurse that was sitting next to the bed.

"Why am I here?"

The question hung loosely in the air for several moments before being acknowledged. Then the nurse took Lawliet's hand in hers and held it gently, looking at him with a glint of sadness in her eyes.

"You won't be seeing your father again, Lawliet."

Lawliet stared at her blankly. Suddenly the pain in his back returned. Laying back completely, he felt as though he might throw up again, and when the second nurse came back into the room and provided Lawliet with a clean blanket, he turned quickly to the nurse that was next to him.

"Can I have a bucket?"

The nurse walked a short distance to a shelf across the room, retrieved a plastic bucket and brought it to Lawliet.

"If you feel like you're going to be sick again, I need you to let me know. Your back has been severely damaged and you should not try to sit up by yourself."

Lawliet did not want to sit up at all. The pain that embraced his body was progressively thickening and he felt very weak.

"I think I'm going to be sick.."

Acting on cue, the nurse quickly supported Lawliet by his neck and head, taking extreme care not to hurt him in his fragile state. Holding his head in a way that did not hurt his back, she held the bucket firmly in front of him with her other hand and waited expectantly.

Sure enough, it came again. Lawliet heaved and threw up forcefully into the bucket, enduring not only the pain of vomiting, but also the pain of laying back while doing so. Moments later, although his eyes watered and his hands shook, he let his head fall weakly back into his pillow without daring to look directly at the contents that were now contained within the hollow plastic pail.

"Do you feel a little better now?", the nurse inquired as she adjusted the bed sheet slightly to make Lawliet more comfortable. He nodded his head subtly and closed his eyes.

The nurse left momentarily before bringing Lawliet a cup of water to drink. He thanked her and sipped it slowly, hoping that he could stomach it properly without vomiting again. Finally, after drinking every drop, he lay flat on his back and stared at the blank ceiling.

Where would he go from here? He had no home to go back to, no mother, and the nurse had told him that he would never be seeing his father again. What had happened to his father? He knew of no other living relatives at all. He was completely alone now with nowhere to go, and with these thoughts came a strange feeling of emptiness.

"You should get some sleep, Lawliet. Your body needs rest."

Acknowledging the nurse's advice without question, he closed his eyes for the final time that night. They were still dilated and hurt when he blinked. His whole face felt injured and deformed, and within the crumbling walls of his childish mind, Lawliet heard voices. Voices that confined and condemned, called him weak and burdensome, and clearly stated how his very life meant nothing. Contaminated with the poison of sorrow and affliction, his deserted heart felt numb.

Lawliet listened closely to the voices for a long time before even they abandoned him, leaving him prisoner to the hollow cries of his own worth. He knew, even before decisively surrendering himself to a broken slumber, that the voices spoke only the truth.


End file.
